Calls Across the Pacific (22 page)

As Gao spoke, she laid two mugs of tea on a square stool in front of them. Then, she took a paper bag from a desk drawer and pulled out some almond cookies. “Help yo
urselves,” she said, turning to a chair near the stool and sitting down. The sunset emitted a soft glow through the window that reflected off her face. “Every cloud has a silver lining,” she said in a wistful tone that touched a chord in Nina's heart.

“Do you have any news to tell us?” Nina and Yueming asked Gao at the same time.

“Yes! I've been accepted into a graduate program at Beijing Normal University.” She clasped her hands in front of her chest.

Yueming gripped Gao's arm. “I knew this day would come. I knew it!”

“Congratulations!” Nina got up off the bed and put a hand on Gao's shoulder. “Let's celebrate. Is there a store around?” she asked. Maybe she could pick up a bottle of wine.

“The store is far. And it's already closed by now,” said Gao. “But we can make chicken soup.”

Nina looked at the newspaper-covered walls made of mud bricks and the old shelves lined with various items. The only table was piled with exercise books to be marked. There was no sign of a refrigerator or a cooler. She suddenly remembered that most people in China did not have a refrigerator. At that moment, Yueming jumped up and ran outside. “We'll have to catch a chicken first!” Gao followed laughing brightly.

Aha! So that's where the chicken comes from!
Nina laughed out loud to as she ran with them into the field. With their arms held wide open, they chased a hen, pushing it into the corner of the building where the chicken coop, made of mud and a roof of branches, was located. The hen scurried into the coop. Dust swirled around. Yueming reached out and caught the hen from inside the shelter. The other chickens fluttered their wings in panic.

Some time later, an enamel basin, covered by a wooden cutting board, sat on the kerosene stove. Eventually, the aroma of chicken soup spread over the spacious room. Later, shreds of cabbage from Gao's own vegetable garden were added to the soup.

“It smells so delicious.” Nina held up her bowl to her nose and took a deep whiff.

“Maybe I should suggest that Sandra's Chips add chicken soup to their menu,” Yueming said, grinning. She passed out some steamed buns she had brought from home to Nina and Gao. “They're fresh, made of this year's wheat.”

“What is ‘Sandra's Chips'?” asked Gao.

“An American fast-food restaurant near my university. I'll be working there starting next Monday,” Yueming said as she ate. “That'll be something new. I'll learn how to make money as a student.”

“That's a really new idea,” said Gao, exhilaration in her voice. Imagining her future life as a graduate student and thinking about the return to her hometown, Beijing, thrilled her. Her heart was full, and the two young women with her were delighted for her.

As night fell, Gao took three stools from a classroom next door and placed them along the side of her bed. With abundant bedding added over the top of the stools, her bed was now king-sized. The electricity went off at eight o'clock. Gao lit a candle as usual.
No wonder her eyesight is so poor,
thought Nina.

A cool breeze blew in through the window. Starlight also streamed in to bolster the candlelight. Gao's story blended with the dim light. During her first four years in the countryside, she had worked with peasants to grow wheat and soybeans. She had aimed to forget about learning and teaching English and her past as well, with the idea that after the purgatory, she might once again have a bright future. In addition to the physical hardship of work on the farm, she had found her soul was empty despite Mao's directives ringing in her head and revolutionary songs flooding her ears. It was only later, when she started to listen to English on the Voice of America, did her hellish world slowly fade away.

“Now I feel like I'm in paradise,” Gao said, drawing in a long breath. “I'll go look for my father right away after school finishes.”

Nina asked, “When is the last time you saw him?”

“Eighteen years ago. That was in 1960 when I was a seventh grader. He came back to Beijing to sign the divorce papers. He said he'd always love me no matter what became of him, but from then on, I should exclude his name whenever I filled out any forms. It was a way to let me evade any connection with him. In other words, being related to him could ruin my future. Luckily, I was accepted to a university in 1965 while many high-school graduates were rejected because of their undesirable family background. Only then could I understand why my parents had divorced. I thought I would find my father after my university graduation, but of course, that never transpired. And now, thirteen years have passed, and with those, my dream passed too.” Gao sighed. “I hope my father has survived.”

Gao's words touched Nina's heart where indelible feelings were deeply buried. “I wish my father had lived to see today.” The scene of that downhearted day came to mind: her mother's trembling hands embracing the dark rosewood box that held her father's ashes. Nina had cried with her mother, staring at her father's photograph on the front board of the small casket.

Gao wrapped her arm gently around Nina's shoulder. “I'm sorry to bring up this topic.”

“I'm okay. I'll keep my fingers crossed that you find your father.” Looking at Gao, she patted her on the back. “Those terrifying days are finally over. I feel relieved.”

“So do I. Now tell me about your studies in the U.S.”

Nina's stories continued while the candle's flame flickered in the dark and her companions listened attentively. Eventually, the candle's light died out. It was before dawn; the first rooster crowed. Soon, a chorus of cocks would announce daybreak.

22.
IN THE NAME OF THE REVOLUTION

A
FTER SAYING GOODBYE
and wishing Gao the best of luck, Nina and Yueming returned to Beijing on the Sunday afternoon. As planned, Liya joined Nina on campus.

The following morning, while Yueming started her first day of work at Sandra's Chips, Nina and Liya boarded the train to Hohhot City, the provincial capital of Inner Mongolia, one of the major provinces, to which an influx of youths from big cities had been dispatched. Rei's classmate, Jing, was arranging some interviews for them.

Nina remembered her previous experience of travelling, so she brought plenty of bottled water along with them in case water was unavailable on the train. The morning sunlight flashed through the open windows as the train glided past the open fields, and the breeze that streamed in cooled the warm air inside. The long-distance travellers dozed in their seats while the local passengers moved about carrying heavy baskets and fully loaded sacks. Some of them had just boarded the train, but others were ready to leave.

Liya noticed Nina's look of curiosity. “These people are vendors who go from town to town,” she explained. “They buy goods from this location and sell them in another.”

Nina nodded. “I saw this the last time when I was in China visiting my mother. I think these people may well be tomorrow's businessmen,” she added.

“Maybe or maybe not,” said Liya. “Right now all they think about is how to make money by any means possible to them.”

“If everybody thinks about getting rich, the whole country may become wealthy. Aiming to be rich isn't necessarily a bad thing.”

Liya picked up on Nina's train of thought. “Do you think if people's basic needs are met, they won't be interested in the revolution?”

“That's right. I believe a peaceful evolution is happening right now.”

Liya laughed. “It's funny how we can be on the same wavelength even though we're currently walking different paths in life.” By the way,” Liya said, pulling out a few folded pages from her handbag. “Can you read this and tell me what you think?”

Nina unfolded the cover page. The title, “In the Name of Revolution,” caught her attention immediately. She read:

Spring of 1975 arrived with shocking news

Zhang Zhixin was taken to an execution place

Her feet chained, her hands in cuffs

She was a communist and a mother.

Looking into the sky, she opened her mouth

But she was forever voiceless

Her windpipe slashed by the killers

They feared her words.

Arrested as an anti-revolutionist

Because of her critical comments

Decapitation ended her breaths

Darkness swallowed her flesh and bones.

Raised under Mao's red flag

She practised the communist cause

Anti-revolution and opposing Mao were her crimes

I do not understand the puzzle of this.

Here, tears blurred Nina's eyes, so she pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped her cheeks. Then she continued.

Who slit her throat and forced her death?

The Communist Party and her comrades.

I have figured it out at last:

She wasn't allowed to have opposing views.

Dare I ask Mao and his Communist Party?

I fear my throat will be cut into two pieces

In the name of revolution, for thought crimes

Such questions can turn me to ashes.

I am asking mountains and oceans

Scouring the sky for answers

In the name of righteous justice

But the world is wrapped in silence.

If telling the truth is offensive

Then everyone is a felon.

If everybody dares not tell the truth

What kind of the nation is this?

If an honest citizen should be slashed

The People's Republic of China is dangerous.

If the communists have to destroy innocents

I must disagree with this practice.

Did her family dare to weep those fearful days?

Have her children survived the savagery?

Tears wash my face while my heart bleeds

In the name of humanity, my dignity awakens.

Nina's heart sank deeply as she read through the poem. She lay the pages on the table, and, with trembling hands, refolded them. “Touching and powerful,” she said. “Can you tell me more about this slaughtered woman?”

“Yes,” Liya said, and she glanced at the people in the seat across from them. A man in his late forties rested his forehead on the table, napping. The other man, who looked like a peasant, sat back, a bamboo pole leaning on his shoulder. His two hands busily flipped through a bundle of ten and twenty fen bills.

Liya lowered her voice and started the story. “Zhang Zhixin was jailed three years ago because she doubted in Lin Biao, Mao's successor. She didn't want to admit she had committed a crime, so she was executed. Her husband was even forced to divorce her.”

Nina felt as if all her old nightmares about the red terror had returned.
Such political oppression has been dealt to my father, to Dahai's mother, to Gao's father, to millions of fathers and mothers, sons and daughters. They've been persecuted and slaughtered in the name of the revolution and under the red flag of Mao's regime.

Nina imagined Roger would widen his eyes if he were listening to the story. His fingers would freeze on his guitar strings. “Your poem is very impressive, but you have to be careful,” she whispered as she placed the pages into Liya's handbag. “You don't want to get into trouble for that.”

“Don't worry,” Liya whispered so that only Nina could hear. “A group of my fellow students are getting ready to launch a literary magazine named
New Buds
. Such poems and short stories will be in the inaugural issue in October. Students from other universities are doing the same. Freedom of speech has been written into our constitution for a long time. We'll see if this freedom can be put into practice.”

“I feel excited about your magazine. The students at Peking University plan to run a literary magazine called
Our Generation
,” said Nina as she thought about all those who had been punished for expressing their different opinions, or for telling the truth about what had occurred during the political movements since 1949. She added, “I only wish that such persecution would never happen again.”

“People are learning and awakening. If we don't speak up, who will?” Liya clenched her hand into a fist. She envisioned thousands of university students holding up various copies of the new underground magazines, enthusiasm and wisdom on their faces. Nina could see the desire for freedom on her face, and she shivered, knowing that the price of such freedom could be high.

“Ladies!” A loud voice erupted out of the mouth of the sleepy man. “You should obey Chairman Mao's will!”

Nina raised her head. The middle-aged man from the opposite seat had pulled a cigarette out of his front pocket. He casually lit it, and then said, “The revolution continues.” He took a hard, deep puff, drew in the nicotine, and then let the smoke escape from his nostrils. “You bourgeoisie can't change the world. Anti-revolution is a crime! Am I right, my peasant brother?” He nudged his neighbour's shoulder. “Wake up, my brother, and speak!”

“I'm not against revolution. Chairman Mao was my saviour,” answered the peasant, placing a palm-sized cloth pouch on the table. Then he pulled a white slip of paper from his pocket. “But Deng Xiaoping let me earn money. Now my family has enough to eat and wear.” Back and forth between pouch and paper, his fingers quickly pinched tobacco shreds and then laid them on the white slip to roll into a cigarette. “Worker Bro, try my cigarette. It might be better than yours.”

The worker accepted the cigarette that the peasant had lit. He took a puff, then exhaled. “It is more tasty,” he acknowledged, nodding and lightly slapping the peasant's back.

“What's the difference between capitalism and socialism? The students' talk is all mumbo-jumbo,” said the peasant. He rolled up another cigarette, this time for himself. “You don't need to bother with them. We know better, don't we?”

“That's true. Chairman Mao always said that intellectuals stink. They should learn from us workers and peasants.” The worker puffed hard on the cigarette. “The world changes fast,” he sighed, “and not always for the better.” Wafts of smoke blew out from his mouth and nose.

Soon, the smoke from the two men clouded the seats and made Nina and Liya cough, but they remained where they were since there were no other empty seats. Nina grabbed Liya's arm and spoke softly into her ear, “We should be more careful. Some people don't even realize or aren't concerned about the problems in the system.”

Liya nodded and turned her head to the window. Everything looked vague through the cigarette smoke but a warm breeze blew in and diluted the choking air around the booth.

When the train reached Hohhot Railway Station, Jing was waiting on the platform. She took them to her parents' apartment in a building that belonged to the
Inner Mongolian Daily.
During the summer holiday, Jing returned home to take care of her mother, who was in the hospital.
Nina felt fortunate to have this opportunity to meet people in this area through Jing, and they accepted the young woman's invitation to stay in her home overnight. Jing had arranged a meeting with Muying, a co-worker from a military farm, who just recently had been one of the lucky people accepted into a college program. “You'll be very much touched by her story,” Jing said.

Nina's heart shrank when she saw Muying perched on the edge of a bed in her room even though Jing had mentioned the burn on her face beforehand. The skin on her face looked like charred bark. Her eyes were two dark holes, and her nose was a knob above an unclosed mouth. In the dim room, her face was almost frightening. Turning her eyes toward the unopened window curtains, Nina suddenly understood that the sunlight might be a discomfort to their hostess.

“Muying, this is Nina and Liya,” Jing introduced them to the woman, who gestured for them to sit on a bench near her bed.

“Congratulations on your acceptance to college,” said Nina when she shook Muying's outstretched hand.

“Jing told me you were coming. I am happy to share my story with you.” Muying started with her past right away.

“I was only fifteen when I was sent to the military farm. I learned quickly how to ride horseback and tend sheep. Besides coping with the changeable weather and insufficient sustenance, we were also plagued with a lack of electricity. Without sanitary paper for our menses, we were obliged to cut our underwear into pieces and use them as substitutes. Did you do the same at that time?” Muying's dark eye holes turned to Nina, then Liya.

Nina nodded. Liya said, “So did I. None of us had the money to buy tissues that we could use during our monthly courses.”

Muying continued her story. “But three years later, I got used to the nomadic life. In fact, I already looked like a shepherd girl with my red frostbitten face and sheepskin gown. We grew wheat, cut grass, and tended animals. There were about two hundred student workers like me.”

Nina easily pictured the numerous herds of cattle and sheep scattered about on the endless grassland of that northern military farm, and she also understood how that life might even, after a time, become appealing and comfortable. Tragedy struck a fall evening in 1973, when a severe fire had been aggravated by a strong gust of wind and quickly spread to a large sheep pen. A husky voice had shouted, “Fire! Fire!” Some of the young men and women had stopped what they were doing and scuttled over to the burning pen with spades or hoes slung over their shoulders.

Around the tents, the Political Commissar, responsible for the political education of these young men and women, had hollered, “Comrades, we should protect the state property! Chairman Mao says, ‘Wherever there is struggle there is sacrifice, and death is a common occurrence!'”

Muying and the other workers had dashed out from different dwellings. Some held pails of water; some gripped brooms. They hastened over to the fire and smoke.

Muying's short hair had still been wet from washing; the warm wind on the grassland soon dried her hair. But before she reached the edge of the blaze, she had felt as though she were being roasted in an oven. Some of the workers in front of her swatted their brooms and spades in the burning bushes in an attempt to halt the spread of the fire. The charred wood smell mixed with the stench of burning animals had choked her breath. Some flames had then engulfed a young girl just in front of her, and Muying leapt to pour the water from her jug on the flames. She had then thrown down the bucket and pulled at the girl's arm to try and get her to drop and roll onto the ground, but the heat from the flames overwhelmed Muying and she collapsed in a smouldering heap on the ground. Realizing her hair was on fire, she had slapped at the strands with her hands, but a fireball rolled over her and it pressed her into a tiny speck of dust, consuming her face.